Heatstroke
by datsherlockearhat
Summary: Sherlock gets heatstroke - but being Sherlock - doesn't want to take a trip to hospital. I bet it's really out-of-character, but it's my favourite kind of fanfic... A SICKFIC! Please leave a review or a prompt! I love writing for people :D
1. Finding Out

**Hi everyone! This is the first fanfiction I have ever posted. Ever. Period (Where I come from, it's 'full-stop', but whatever). I do have about 2 months of experience though! Hope you like it! It's quite short, but I just wanted to let you all know that I exist :D**

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Sherlock walked back into 221B Baker Street. There was something wrong. His skin was bright red and he was having trouble breathing.

"John!" He called out.

He heard John reply, and heard him running down the stairs in panic, but Sherlock sprinted to the bathroom, banging into at least two walls.

He felt nauseous and was leaning on to the toilet, but he hadn't eaten anything recently, being in the middle of a case; so not much came up.

Soon enough, John had joined him.

"John, I don't feel so good…" He whined before throwing up stomach acid.

"It'll be OK Sherlock, there's a bit of sickness going around at Scotland Yard, you should get over it sooner or later." Inside, John was very worried. Sherlock Holmes didn't _get _sick. Ever.

Anxiety got the better of him, and within five minutes he was rooting around in his medical bag for his ear thermometer. He poked it into Sherlock's ear when he had taken a short pause from his vomiting. It returned a temperature of 105 degrees.

Worried by this high reading, John took Sherlock's pulse, finding it abnormally fast. It was suddenly all clear.

"Sherlock, you bloody idiot!"

Sherlock looked up innocently, before having to stick his head back into the toilet, with more nausea on its way.

"What the hell were you thinking? It's the middle of August, for christ's sake, and you've decided to go out in a bloody woolen coat!"

"When I left, it was a bit… nippy."

"Well, I hope it was worth it, because you've gone and gotten yourself a case of heatstroke, and a bad one at that. I'm going to have to take you to hospital!"

"NO! No hospital! Just bring me a bucket and some tea and I'll lie in my bed."

This didn't sound like Sherlock. Sherlock would either be whining that John leave him alone, or insisting that he wasn't sick, and that it was just an unwanted result of one of his experiments.

"Sherlock, tea will only make things worse. You can have a bucket though, and an ice pack. Look, you don't have to go there in an ambulance, but you have to go to hospital otherwise you might _die_!"

"John, you're a doctor! Just call in a kit from Mycroft and you can treat me here!"

This definitely didn't sound like Sherlock. He would _never_ accept help from Mycroft, even if his life depended on it.

"I worked in Afghanistan. It doesn't get that hot there. I don't know how to treat heatstroke, just how to identify it. Now come on..." He tried to get Sherlock to come along, but, he refused.

"No, I'm really sore and I have a headache!"

"That only proves my point. I'll be back in a minute." John left to gather the equipment he'd need for the cab ride, and then preceded back to the bathroom where he found Sherlock hunched over the toilet, vomiting up more stomach acid.

"Come on Sherlock, we have to go!"

Sherlock didn't even struggle. He attempted to stand up, but he was too weak, so John had to carry him there.

John gave Sherlock the bucket and held the ice pack to his head. After a while, a cab driver that was kind enough to stop for the sick stopped for them.

"St. Bartholomew's hospital, please."

The cab driver sped off, realizing that it was an emergency.

Halfway through the journey, Sherlock blacked out.

"Shit! Excuse me, do you have any water? It's an emergency!"

The driver indicated towards a bottle of water in the front seat, and John reached out and grabbed it. He removed Sherlock's ridiculous coat and drenched one of the sleeves with the water. He moved the ice pack to the back of Sherlock's neck where his own body could hold it in place.

John used the wet sleeve to wet Sherlock's face and the fanned it with his hand. He rang St Barts.

"Excuse me, we're on the way to your hospital right now. In the cab with me I have a patient with heatstroke who has just blacked out. We'll be there in about 10 minutes, but could you please have a wheelchair and someone to see him ready by the time we get there?"

"Yes, certainly sir. I'll see you soon!"

John hung up and continued to nurse Sherlock, who soon woke. It wasn't with a start, but he simply looked up at John and looked at the verge of tears.

The hospital was soon in sight, and John asked the cab driver how much the journey would cost, so he could have the money ready.

"Oh, don't worry sir! The poor man's got heatstroke! I won't charge you."

The cab pulled up right by the entrance, and the team was already outside with a wheelchair, ready to take him in. John waved a cheerful goodbye to the cab driver, before following Sherlock in.

Sherlock shivered whilst lying in a hospital bed with a hospital gown on. He was wearing an oxygen mask. John supervised as they inserted a thermistor probe, nasogastric tube and a Foley catheter. Sherlock definitely disapproved.

Sherlock was going to be in hospital for at least another 48 hours, and would probably be immersed in ice-water at some point, but both Sherlock and John were happy that Sherlock was going to live to complete his case.

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**Please leave a review if you liked it! XD**


	2. Hallucinations Part 1

**OK, due to popular demand (i.e a single review) a new chapter is on it's way! It was going to be a one-shot, but it's too late now! I also realised that some of the equipment listed in chapter 1 may have been a little... Scientific. I came up with a little glossary for you guys:**

**Thermistor probe: Basically a thermometer.**

**Nasogastric tube: Used to administer drugs and/or food to the patient**

**Foley catheter: Also known as a Urinary catheter. Look it up - wait no, don't. They insert one in a patient if they are unable to excrete.**

**I'm a bit of a perfectionist, so when I write fanfic I usually back it up with Google, Wikipedia, etc. For the previous chapter I needed information on hospital treatment so I looked up the professional medical website for treating heatstroke in hospital. Yes, i'm serious. This time I couldn't be screwed to do so much research so it relies in my logic... I probably should mention that I have no medical training whatsoever; my educational facility is too squeamish to talk about anything to do with human biology. **

**Thanks so much to Ivanova for the review! You forever have a place in my heart. This one's about some hallucinations!**

**Melissa xxx**

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"I'm cold."

"Sherlock, you're lucky to be conscious."

"Yes, but I'm cold."

"You should be. You've just been immersed in a tub of ice-water for Christ's sake!"

It was Sherlock's second day in hospital. He had slept there (much to his disapproval), but he still had all of the equipment he was hooked up to when he first arrived – except the oxygen mask. He had removed that in disgust and John stopped trying to make him keep it on.

"The case! Can I work on the case?"

"Sherlock, you've developed a serious case of heatstroke, and it's all your own fault. Just sit there and let yourself recover, or I'll request that they put you on sedatives."

Sherlock's eyes widened, but then he returned to their expression of boredom.

"Dull."

John ignored him.

"Bored."

Silence.

"John…"

He continued without John's acknowledgement.

"Can I play with your gun?"

"NO! Sherlock, my gun is for emergencies _only_. Besides, what would the hospital think if you were to shoot another _smiley face _into the wall? Why did you do that anyway?"

"I was bored! What else did you expect me to do?"

"Well, there was the shopping, the laundry, the dishes, and lots of other things I don't care to name."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be silent. His stomach started churning, and he could feel some more nausea on the way. The bowl was still on the side-table from last time. 'No', he thought. 'That was the last time. No more vomiting'.

He must have become physically nauseous, because John noticed.

"Sherlock, are you feeling OK?" he questioned, a slight tone of angst in his voice.

"Yes. I'm fi-"

He was cut off as he began to throw up into the bowl.

John rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was doing.

Sherlock hated vomiting. Not only was it dull, but he hadn't eaten very much so there was a lot of unpleasant stomach acid.

Footsteps.

Sherlock looked up and saw a blurry figure standing near the door, followed by a slight click of the door closing.

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

"John! There's someone at the door!"

John whipped around to find no-one there, and Sherlock looked back to find that the mysterious man had gone.

"Sherlock, there's no need to tell lies. You already have my full attention."

"B-B-But, he really was there! I swear! The door clicked and I heard the footsteps and everything!"

John raised an eyebrow.

"OK, there's something going on. Might be some hallucinations from the drugs you're on. I'll go fetch a nurse to sedate you. Then hopefully you'll feel a little better."

"Wait! John!"

Before long the John had returned with a nurse who pressed a few buttons on the machine connected to his nasogastric tube, and before long he was sleeping again.

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**A short one, but everything's been moving a little slowly and i'm not in the greatest of moods right now. part 3 will probably be up tomorrow, but, please, don't get your hopes up! Remember to drop your prompts or reviews below :D**


	3. Hallucinations Part 2

**OK, I do realise that my stories are getting shorter as I go along, but I really have no inspiration left :(**

**If you guys have any ideas for where this should go next, please leave a prompt below. Otherwise, i'll have to draw this story to a close. :'-(**

**Also, a big thanks to Ivanova, Nisch, Prothoe, and gemstone1234 for the reviews. You guys rock! XD**

**Melissa xxx**

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Sherlock awoke to see Mycroft standing next to him. He looked out the window to see that it was morning, and from the sun's position about 6:30.

John was on his normal seat, but he was still sleeping, so couldn't make Mycroft leave.

"Ah, look who's awake, brother dear."

"Shut up Mycroft. How did you get in here anyway?"

"I have my ways."

Sherlock ignored him and instead called out to John, who woke up and looked at him sleepily.

"What do you want Sherlock? Is something wrong?" He asked through a yawn.

Before he could answer, he heard the footsteps again. He knew that the strange man would be coming again. He looked away from John to find the blurred figure, standing in his usual spot.

"John! He's there again!" Screamed Sherlock. Both John and Mycroft whipped around to find, again, that Sherlock was either hallucinating or lying to get attention.

Mycroft stuck out his hand to check if Sherlock was running a fever – the heatstroke fever would have broken by now. Sherlock reached out and batted it away. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock, let me take your temperature, or I'll make a nurse come in here and do it."

Sherlock gave up and let Mycroft feel his head.

"John, he is quite hot. He might be running a fever."

John got up, and found a thermometer in the cupboard. Sherlock looked back at the door defensively and found the blurry man there again.

"He's back!"

John was too busy looking through the cupboard, but Mycroft looked over to the door and sighed.

He grabbed Sherlock's shoulder firmly and said, "Sherlock, there's no-one there. You're just hallucinating, and you have a high temperature."

"Don't touch me." Came the well thought out, witty response.

John turned around with the thermometer in his hands. After a bit of struggle, threatening, and insults, they had made a collective effort to shove the thermometer under Sherlock's tongue, and it returned a temperature of 103°F.

"Sherlock, you're running a fever. I'll get a doctor to bring you some Tylenol or some aspirin."

John left the room, leaving Sherlock alone with Mycroft.

"You're lucky you're being looked after by such a competent doctor."

"Shut up."

Mycroft started leaning on his umbrella – the pose he made whenever he was ready to leave the room.

"Well, brother dearest, I think I'll be off."

"Why? Still having those potty problems are we? 'Brother dearest'?"

Now it was Mycroft's turn to be silent, and he pranced out of the room.

"Laterz!" Sherlock yelled at Mycroft's back. Mycroft glared at him and turned a deep shade of scarlet, before turning back to the door and leaving, slightly quickening his pace.

John returned with a nurse.

The nurse looked about 40 years old, and whilst examining Sherlock she was mumbling about 'the poor dear'.

"One child." Sherlock stated.

"Sorry dear?" Questioned the nurse in response.

"You have one child."

"Why, yes darling."

Sherlock internally congratulated himself, until the nurse had concluded that he had a fever and put him on Tylenol.

'Sherlock _bloody _Holmes. Never gets sick, but when he does it's because of his own _stupidity._' John said. Internally.

"John."

"Yes Sherlock?"

"I don't have a fever."

"Well then, explain you're temperature of 103°F."

"I can't."

"You'll probably feel it tomorrow. You're not like other humans."

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**Just a little reminder to drop your reviews and prompts below! **


	4. Fevered Frenzy

**Hi all! This is one of the longer chapters :)**

**Thanks so much to gemstone1234 for the prompt. I hope you all like this one.**

**Please feel free to drop a review or prompt below. I think I know where this one will go next but let me know if you have any ideas for a separate story!**

**Melissa xxx**

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Day three – Sherlock was still in hospital, but slept through the night out of pure boredom. His equipment was still all attached to him. John was dozing in his chair. Sherlock had started getting that strange feeling of a fever – hot and cold at the same time, so he decided to wake up John.

"John. John. John. Wake up John."

John slowly woke himself up, and looked across at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, they're taking off the equipment today. You don't need it all anymore, but they want to keep you here another day because of the fever and hallucinations."

Sherlock was relieved at having all the equipment removed, but still appalled at being kept _here._ "What?! I'm not having the hallucinations anymore, and a mere fever isn't enough to keep me contained here!"

"You're just being irrational. Has the fever gotten to you yet?"

Sherlock knew that, in fact, it had. He was feeling hot and cold, and couldn't decide whether to keep the hospital blanket on or off. "No." he stated blankly.

"Sherlock, you're angry for no reason. You must be feeling terrible." John stood up and tried to feel Sherlock's temperature with the back of his hand. He batted it away. John didn't try again.

"OK then, Sherlock. I'll just leave you to yourself. Let the nurse know if you need anything."

"Wait! Where are you going?" Sherlock yelled, desperate to make John stay.

"I'm going home to have a shower, and have a cup of tea or something. I haven't left this chair in days, you know!"

Sherlock, feeling too ill to protest, let John leave. A few seconds later, he poked his head around the door.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

"I'll be back in a few hours."

Sherlock grunted, and lay back down in bed. Then it hit him. He doesn't need to be kept here because of a fever! He's already recovered from heatstroke! There's a window in his room and he's on the ground floor.

He ripped out all of the cords in three violent movements, but held his breath for the nasogastric tube as it was in his mouth. His nose was running uncontrollably, and he still had strange, slightly painful feelings in him from when he pulled out the equipment, not to mention he had a fever, which had possibly risen during the night.

He shoved John's chair under the door-handle, so no-one could come in to check on him. He found a metal stand; the kind medical staff put medicine in to lead to the IV drips, and used it to smash the window when he couldn't open it.

He wasn't as weak as his slim body and wiry frame suggested, and smashed through the window with ease – even in his weakened state.

His only worry now was getting caught.

He jumped out the window and ran, but in his fevered frenzy, he had ran right through the glass and gotten quite a few cuts from the glass. Deep ones. He kept running, but he was losing a lot of blood.

He had been running for about 10 minutes, leaving red footprints as he went, until he collapsed in a pool of blood.

oOo

John had his shower, had a few cups of tea, and was wearing his favorite sweater, when he decided to get back into a cab and went back to the hospital. He felt so relaxed and fresh, and hoped that Sherlock had been sleeping, or at least resting.

John paid the cabbie and went inside. He went up to Sherlock's room to find the door closed. He knocked quietly, so if he was asleep he wouldn't be woken, but loud enough for him to hear if he was awake.

There was no response so he twisted the knob to get inside. The door wouldn't open, so he yelled.

"Sherlock! Are you OK?" There was no response, so John started banging on the door, which attracted the attention of some nearby staff. Suddenly, John had an epiphany. _The window. _

John didn't know his way around the hospital properly, so it took him a while to find the right window, but when he did, he saw broken glass, and lots of blood. He panicked, worried about his colleague. Somewhat fortunately, there was a trail of blood that John could follow.

He didn't know how he would tell this to a cabbie, so instead, he ran.

He didn't know how long he had been running, but soon enough he was crouched by his friend's side. He had already called an ambulance, which was on it's way, but for now John was left to nurse Sherlock's wounds, deepest first.

John didn't have his medical bag with him, so he would have to sacrifice his favorite jumper for the cause.

He pulled it off and started to apply pressure to the deepest wounds.

'Sherlock Holmes, what am I going to do with you?'

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**I forgot to mention, I am currently celebrating 2000 words! Yay!**


	5. Surgery

**Sorry about the long wait! It's a Monday, and you know how Mondays are. This one's stupidly short, but after 2 hours of homework, I just want to ****_sleep. _****I promise the next one will be longer, but it might be a couple of days before it comes up.  
Sorry :(**

**Melissa xxx**

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The ambulance had arrived, and Sherlock was taken back to hospital, despite the fact that he had argued, yelled, and screamed throughout the whole trip.

Sherlock's wounds were severe, so he would have to go into surgery.

As they went inside, Sherlock was taken into surgery, leaving John alone to his thoughts, panicking about the state Sherlock had gotten himself into.

John's anxiety lead him to pacing, even though he kept assuring himself that it would all be fine.

"We'll let you see him when he wakes from the anesthesia." John whipped around to see a surgeon speaking to him.

"Actually, can I be there with him? He might get a little upset if I'm not there when he wakes up."

The surgeon remained silent and allowed John to follow him to Sherlock's room, where Sherlock was sleeping on the hospital bed, in a hospital gown.

The surgeon began to explain to John what had happened so he could explain to Sherlock, but being a doctor, he already knew exactly what was going to happen.

When Sherlock woke a little bit later, he seemed slightly relaxed. Before surgery, he had been given a general anesthetic.

He became visibly shaken when he saw the multiple stitches down his arms, and some minor cuts not serious enough for stitches.

"Well, Sherlock. I guess you'll be here for even longer now!"

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**The next chapter will be called something along the lines of 'Self Harm'. That's all I have so far, so if you have any prompts for that, please let me know!**

**I almost forgot to mention, thank you so much to everyone who dropped a review on the last chapter. Special thanks to Catie501 for the prompt to a new fic (coming soon)! Feel free to PM me if you have any ideas for other fics.**

**Melissa xxx**


	6. The Final Chapter - Madness Begins

**Well, it's longer... :( I didn't know what else to WRITEz**

**I'm sorry it's been ages since the last update. I've actually had it written for a few days, but I was having internet troubles; my brother has been playing online video games for days on end. DAMN YOU.**

**I must also mention that this is the last chapter for 'Heatstroke'. It started as a one-shot, but it's not anymore!**

**I also have quite a mission on my hands right now, so I only get an hour or two a day of spare time (I am not exaggerating)... My account will probably be less active for a while.**

**Melissa xxx**

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Sherlock had only been in hospital for a few hours, but he was starting to go mad – he was still delusional from fever, after all.

He had started by simply picking at his stitches.

"Stop it Sherlock. You'll open them, then you'll have to have them re-done."

Sherlock paid him no notice, and John had long since given up on getting Sherlock to do what he was told.

Within an hour or two, Sherlock had started scratching at his skin.

John didn't even notice.

The slight scratching soon escalated into an act of madness. He was trying so hard to rip his skin open; he was drawing blood with every swipe.

John was worried about his friend, and ran over to help.

John placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, and quickly retracted it when Sherlock lashed at his face. Sherlock's madness had caused him to miss by a long shot.

"Sherlock! Why are you hurting yourself?"

"Bugs. Bugs. Evil bugs. Moriarty sent the bugs!"

This sounded ridiculous, so of course John didn't believe him.

"Sherlock, I promise you, there are no bugs."

"JOHN! You have to get out! Otherwise you will get bugs!"

"Sherlock, there are no bugs there."

"JOHN! GET OUT!"

Sherlock started flailing his limbs randomly.

John ran, and grabbed a few nurses armed with morphine.

Sherlock hadn't calmed down since John had left, but after some attempted conversation with him, it was soon realized that he wouldn't be injected with morphine without some struggle. John pinned him down with one arm and stroked his hair with the other while they injected the needle in his arm.

Sherlock winced as the needle was inserted, but John was there to stroke his hair; for comfort, not love. Sherlock was falling asleep. How cute.

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**Just so you know, it wasn't supposed to be Johnlock, but if you ship that kind of thing, feel free to take it that way.**

**Melissa xxx**


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